My review of the TK Webb and the Visions’ latest single is up.

On his radio show Glenn Greenwald interviews Daniel Ellsburg, the former RAND Corporation employee whose release of the infamous “Pentagon Papers” in 1971 exposed the complicity of the U.S. government in continuing the war in Vietnam. As a result, Ellsburg was charged with 12 felony counts and might have served up to 115 years in

The picture tells us how The Witnesses approaches the subject of AIDS in mid eighties France: insouciantly. We know – the characters vaguely know – the threat, but we’re having too much fun to take precautions. Although not the subtle psychosexual ballet that director André Téchiné’s 1995 masterpiece Wild Reeds was, The Witnesses has the

Literature’s finest schlock

I remember the shock when I read Evelyn Waugh’s The Loved One a couple of years after Brideshead Revisited. Imagine listening to the Buzzcock’s “Orgasm Addict” after Kansas’ “Dust in the Wind.” The author of this limp, pallid, honey-hewed paen to English private school class envy and homoerotica wrote really funny novels! Maybe “pallid” is

A review of Entertainment Weekly TV critic Gillian Flynn’s debut novel Sharp Objects.

Roy Orbison – "Life Fades Away"

One of my favorite songs. “It’s Over” for the eighties.

The Dark Nought

I’ve avoided writing at length, but since I’m reading and hearing few critical views from my own generation about this Holy Grail of comic book adaptations (David Edelstein published an intelligent demurral last week) I couldn’t resist anymore. As a fan of X-2, most of Iron-Man, and the Richard Lester-helmed bits of Superman II, I

I’ll remember Pitchfork Music Festival this year for the great times with friends I too rarely see and the heat (as a South Floridian I thought I could deal with humidity in every state in the Union) more than the performances, although most of them were serviceable. Surprises: the Dirty Projectors, an act which sounded

I’ll remember Pitchfork Music Festival this year for the great times with friends I too rarely see and the heat (as a South Floridian I thought I could deal with humidity in every state in the Union) more than the performances, although most of them were serviceable. Surprises: the Dirty Projectors, an act which sounded

I’ve been Pitchforking for the last four days: at the music festival and hanging out with friends. See you on Monday.

Remember Imani Coppola? She’s back, and, boy, is she mad at a certain female British Grammy winner.

I made the appalling mistake of relistening to my tape copy of Ultravox’s The Collection. My fourteen-year-old self sure had a weakness for anything vaguely resembling Roxy Music. But Bryan Ferry ignored his adenoids.